


(i’ll let you play the role; i’ll be your animal)

by proserpinasacra



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Consensual Sex, Deepthroating, Desk Sex, F/M, Grinding, Hair-pulling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Strip Tease, Vaginal Sex, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proserpinasacra/pseuds/proserpinasacra
Summary: It only took once for Jacob to understand the nature of the game; it only took Gracie skipping back from his touch and giving him a mischievous smile once for him to catch what she played at. He settled back then, spreading his thighs wider so she could slot herself back between them, driven by curiosity to see what she had in mind rather than obedience. If there was a visible distinction, she hardly seemed to care.(gracie gives jacob a lap dance; it’s something of a mind game, because everything is)





	(i’ll let you play the role; i’ll be your animal)

It only took once for Jacob to understand the nature of the game; it only took Gracie skipping back from his touch and giving him a mischievous smile once for him to catch what she played at. He settled back then, spreading his thighs wider so she could slot herself back between them, driven by curiosity to see what she had in mind rather than obedience. If there was a visible distinction, she hardly seemed to care. She only smiled wider, smug, and stepped between his legs, starting up a sensuous sway of her hips in rhythm with the quiet record playing in the background, and the accompanying whispery hum under her breath.

Even though she moved with the grace of a dancer, it still called to mind the movements of her killing. Sinuous and graceful, all underlaid with an unignorable viciousness. His fingers flexed where they rest on his thighs, unsettled at her earlier rejection of his touch. And when she leaned close, when the silk of her hair dangled between them as she pressed a single, chaste kiss to his cheek, the feeling only magnified. Her lips looked stained dark, like she’d been eating cherries, and oh so inviting. His hands clenched into fists. It would be weak to give in this soon in her game. She laughed softly under her breath then retreated and even though she had hardly touched him, he missed the closeness of her. Until she started unbuttoning her shirt.

He watched, transfixed, as the plain flannel came slowly, agonizingly away to a sliver of golden tanned skin over lithe muscle, and, then, with a pang of shock, to the lacy white of a pristine bra. Not her style, not either of theirs, but that hardly made the swell of her breasts beneath any less appetizing. His eyes tracked the flex and tension of her muscles as she swayed, the rise and fall of her chest with her breathing. When he looked back up, she looked more like the cat that ate the canary than ever.

Like everything with her, it wasn’t an act of submission. It was a dare.

He wanted to grab her now, press her to the nearest surface and pin her there beneath him to feel every inch of her skin, and every bit of her strength and skill as she inevitably writhed her way free to turn things back on him. He wanted to gather up the inky dark hair she’d let down and tug hard to bare the length of her throat. He wanted to rip that pretty lingerie of hers and make her so full of pleasure she could do nothing but scream and cry out for him.

But if she wanted patience from him, if she wanted to play this little game of hers, he would give that just as willingly.

At his apparent cooperation, the damn woman smirked, and let the flannel fall off her shoulders to the ground. And what a reward, to see her taut muscles and battle won bruises and scars all topped off with the mundane but no less glorious seductive element of the white lace. She simmered with strength, a fierce killer’s power lurking beneath her skin, yet she stood there between his legs clad in lingerie. It was incongruous, like everything about her, her endless contradictions between soft and sharp. Her fingers trailed up her stomach, her sternum, then along the top edge of the bra, where the swell of her breasts met the delicate white fabric, drawing attention as if he wasn’t already trying to take in every bit of her that he could.

She won again. She’d captured his focus, drew him where she wanted, and he didn’t even want to be _strong_ enough to resist. His jaw worked with the wanting of her; he had to concentrate on not springing at her, lest he lose the gambit further.

She fiddled with the strap of her bra, tugging it low enough he thought he might gain a glimpse of her pert nipple. Instead, she released the strap and danced backwards, out of reach, and his hands involuntarily flexed towards her, lifting from his thighs before settling back empty.

Gracie winked, turned, and wiggled her hips as she unbuttoned her jeans and began pushing them down her waist. Slow as honey, Jacob drank in every revealed inch of her long, slender legs, corded with strong muscles. Unnecessarily, she bent all the way down in removing the jeans, giving a perfectly framed vision of her ass. When she reached her toes and pulled the denim over her feet and arched her back, he could see the outline of her sex against the white lace fabric. The underwear matched. Of course it did, she didn’t do things by half-measures.

He stared, felt his own mouth water at the sight of her. She turned, and the sides of her nose scrunched up as she smiled at him and stepped from the puddle of her clothes. So fucking endearing. And a glowing damn goddess in white. He could have sworn his heart stopped when she leaned down, resting her hands on his thighs and looking at him with her eyebrows poised upwards expectantly.

“What is this?” He finally managed, voice hoarse and low.

Gracie widened her eyes, as if she could ever make any believable play at innocence with that knife sharp face of hers and her hands on his legs, leaned forward so her perky little tits peaked through her bra, level with his mouth. “Do you not want to play with me?”

“Didn’t say that, now did I, wildcat?” Jacob swallowed, gathering harshness around him as a shield. “I only want to know what you think it is we’re playing at.”

He grabbed her hips, roughly, but not hard enough to hold her there should she try to draw away. She didn’t, right now, only touched his cheek with unbearable softness, the look in her eyes inscrutable. He wanted to take her apart and pry every intention and thought from those dark eyes. It wouldn’t break her, he couldn’t, he felt certain she’d only crawl back from whatever he inflicted upon her sharper and bristling to throw back her own vengeance. Her fingers trailed over his ruined skin; her touch was uncharacteristically gentle but as cold as always.

“You’re smart. You can figure it out. You’ll play along, or you won’t.” It was so innocuous, in that matter-of-fact tone of hers, and at its base a simple statement. It would go one way, or the other. Obviously. But he could pick it apart, claw into her intentions, and suddenly it wasn’t just a _game_ but a _test_.

He expected she planned for either route— either his pride would demand he fight her, or it would compel him to act opposite how she thought he might. In each eventuality she maintained the upperhand. He didn’t have to prove himself to her. He didn’t want to care what she thought, but— as much as he didn’t want her to know how desperately he didn’t want her to leave, he also desperately didn’t want her to leave.

The moment ticked by. Between them, only the staticky warbling from the half-forgotten record player marked the passage of time. He pried his fingers off her and let his hands fall to his sides. Gracie tipped her head and watched him. When he didn’t move, another, softer smile flickered over her features, and she leaned in close to kiss him on the lips. It was aggravating to kiss her without touching her. The whole thing was aggravating. Her hands cupped his cheeks as she licked at his lips then into his mouth, and he tried to reclaim some measure of control by sucking on her tongue, but she slipped onto his lap, strong thighs bracketing his, and whatever power he took slipped back as he sighed into her mouth.

Her hands stayed busy and wandered, one scratching along his back, the other threading through his hair, still wet from showering, as she picked back up on that graceful viciously smooth sway of her hips, giving him altogether too much to focus on. He could feel every tense and motion of her muscles against him, and he yearned to feel it with his hands too, to run them along her stomach, her back, her ass.

She was almost but not quite grinding on him with the way her hips moved. A harsh and unsatisfying friction against the swell in his pants that had first stirred at the sight of her bra and now ached. Her chest dragged along his, and he imagined that if his shirt were thinner he could feel the brush of her nipples. She rocked down on him in a cruel move with a sweet little sigh to his lips. It felt delicious; it wasn’t enough.

Gracie broke the kiss, and any other day he’d have grabbed her harder to press his face to her neck, but against instinct he only leaned back to allow her whatever she wished. That ended up being her lips on his throat, and her teeth, and a sudden sucking sensation, and a stifled noise from him and a stutter of his hips, seeking to be closer to her warmth. She fucking _bit_ him. Likely in _retaliation._ Not enough to hurt him, but enough to flood any remaining blood from his brain.

He felt her smile on his neck. Her airy giggle brushed his skin soon after. And then she slipped away, out of his lap.

He had to clench his hands again when she withdrew to stop himself from grabbing her, but the instinct dissolved as she sunk to her knees in one smooth motion. Her hands played about his legs; they kneaded along his muscles up and up as she drew closer. And then— she rubbed her cheek along his thigh, twisting to look up at him from the corners of her prettily angled eyes.

Gracie would be the death of him.

“You can hold my hair.” A benevolence, a gift, an allowance disguised as a soft spoken suggestion. Everything about her screamed _I’m letting you do this to me_ and the reality of it knocked the breath from him. That she would give this to him struck, every facet of it unbelievable. And behind that still, he couldn’t help but search for the trick of it. _What would she take in return?_ She already had stolen this moment of cooperation from him, even when he knew it was at its root some kind of test.

Rather than defy her, he obeyed. Jacob tangled his fingers through her hair, slippery and silken and dark as an oil slick. He squeezed, got a tight grip at the nape of her neck, because he knew how she hummed and gasped with pleasure when he had pulled it in the past. Then, tentatively, slow and unbreathing, he used the grip to drag her more medially, positioning her above the outline of his erection and grinding her cheek against the coarse fabric. Hardly mattered to him if it scraped her skin; finally touched but not enough. “Feel what you do to me, wildcat?”

She watched him. Her unerring stare sent shivers along his skin as viscerally as the pressure. He didn’t even notice her hands moving— fatal mistake, always, around her, he’d seen those fingers break skin, strangle the life from dozens— until they were on his fly, quick in extricating his throbbing hard cock from the pants he’d begun cursing the moment she started this game. He swallowed his first gasp at the sudden air and sensation of her nimble fingers on him, but they disappeared soon after, slipping up his thighs and resting there. Gracie looked at him again, blatant intent in her eyes.

She was on her fucking knees in white lace between his legs and yet she controlled his every movement.

“Fuck.” He groaned, at the image of her there, at the anticipation for what the near future held, at whatever sweet hell his life had become, and a flicker of smug satisfaction washed over her face before she parted her lips just so, tongue darting out flat. “ _Gracie_.”

He guided her mouth, her dirty, vicious, hot, open mouth, to him, and couldn’t hold in his gasp this time as she offered no resistance, letting him feed his cock into the warmth of her.

She sucked and hollowed her cheeks and he shuddered. He clutched her hair tighter as she licked at the head of his dick, her dark eyes pinned on him. “Feels fuckin’ good, girl. Pretty, pretty murderous Gracie with her mouth around my cock.”

Her eyelashes shadowed her cheekbones as she closed her eyes and hummed. He groaned, but forced himself to keep his gaze on her, to drink in every detail.

He started shallow, to see how she’d take it— ignoring the buzz of caution that she may have a mind to _bite_ if he moved in a way she disapproved of— bobbing her along an inch down then all the way back with a pop, so her lips bumped the head and she had to open her mouth wider to take him back in before closing again. Along and along, he worked her deeper, testing how far she’d play nice for. If watching his cock disappear into her mouth, if feeling the wet, sucking heat of it, wasn’t unbelievable in itself, that she was letting him control her certainly was.

“Pretty thing, my pretty rabid thing. Vicious girl, look at you, on your knees for me.” She huffed a breath out her nose and opened her eyes to shoot him a significant look, but he could still feel her hands, relaxed and easy on his thighs, even though it paled to the sensation of her sucking him. He could feel her jaw, too, for that matter, relaxed and easy. His pretty wildcat, all languid and open for him. He ran the hand not tangled in her hair at the base of her skull over the crown of it, remembering that she’d told him to touch her hair in the first place. Surely that fit her parameters. He ran his fingers over the oil slick dark silk, as he used his other hand to tug her closer, closer. She hummed again happily, another glorious ripple of sensation that tightened in his gut.

Though she let him set the rhythym, Gracie knew what she was doing. She never lost that boundless assurance she carried into everything, and had the technique to back it up. She hollowed her cheeks and ran her tongue along his glans and sucked and moaned like a whore and even when he built up to plunging almost the full length of himself into her, she still kept it up. Jacob pulled her off again, let her catch her breath. And him— he didn’t want to end this in her mouth, however good a picture that’d paint.

She grinned at him. Shit-eating, all-knowing, _smug_. In the low light he couldn’t distinguish between her blown pupils and her dark, dark irises, even half a body length away. “Getting tired?”

He huffed, tugging her hair sharp enough to hurt. She merely swayed with it, scrunching up her face at him. “If that’s how you wanna play, wildcat, we’ll play.”

He left off petting her hair to touch her throat instead. Her skin was terribly soft just below her chin. As he slowly slid back into her mouth, he ran his fingers along it to feel as she sucked and worked at him before closing around in a weak grip. If she were going to throw him off for straying from the path she set, it’d be now. Instead, he felt her exhale out her nose and saw her eyes close as he worked her closer and closer, inch by inch slipping his sensitive dick into the wanting heat of her mouth. Further, further until he could press her nose flush to his skin, and tighten his hand around her throat, and feel the bulge of his own cock there in her.

He shuddered, barely aware of the broken noise that slipped from his own mouth. He leaned closer over her, gut tensing and out of breath as heated nerves coursed under his ruined skin, under the scrape of the rough clothing he still wore. By her hair, he yanked her entirely back, checked her face cursorily for any hint of hesitancy, then shoved his dick into her again, again, again, then stilled, his heart racing as he felt the pool of saliva trickling out her mouth, the quiver of her throat working, her clever, clever tongue pressing along the underside.

She gagged, a wet, tight noise and feeling combined. The sound of it, of her literally fucking choking on him, and the sensation of her throat spasming around his cock and how she hadn’t fought or struggled or bit because she wanted it— this— him— made Jacob go lightheaded and hurtle so, so damn close. His balls tightened and he could imagine himself spilling into her throat, how she’d startle but try and swallow, how despite her efforts some would dribble out and coat her lips, drip to her slender collarbones, to her tits and that white lace bra, how she’d look all marked and covered in him. He knew he sounded strained and out of breath and undeniably wrecked when he spoke, but as so often was true, he couldn’t stop himself around her.

“S’much as I wanna come on your tits, I want it to be your cunt.” Gracie moaned around him, a final shock of sensation he knew would be close to last if he didn’t stop. He yanked her back and she gasped desperately, a single trail of spit connecting her parted lips to his cock. “ _Christ_.”

She blinked at him. Her cheeks were flushed with a blotchy red; her chest rose and fell delicately as she regained her breath. One of those high-pitched reedy giggles of hers left her lips— lips now reddened and swollen, glistening with spit. He gave an out of breath chuckle to her truly bizarre reaction, and considered her face a moment. Tilting her head further back, he rubbed her cheek against his dick, revelling in the power as much as the softness of her skin. It washed through him, as intoxicating as the scent of her skin and her brutally graceful movements. Then, with a sharpness, he couldn’t stand delaying any longer.

He tugged her up to standing by her hair, though she was nimble enough with fair warning and he didn’t find much resistance. Once she seemed even partially stable, he kissed her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth to hear her half-muffled whine. He crowded her back until he felt the resistance of her hitting his desk, heard the chaotic shuffling of paper as she placed a hand behind onto it to stabilize herself. He hitched one of her thighs over his hip, squeezing hard into her flesh, and she took the initiative on the other.

He didn’t give a fuck about her test or her game or who was to rule; he only wanted to fuck her and make her cry out in pleasure and if she’d acquiesce to that now, then he couldn’t wait much longer. He broke the kiss. Ducked down to bite at her neck instead, those collarbones, and dug his thumbs hard above the divots of her hip bones, into the hard muscles there. “Gracie?

“Yes, yes. Bend me over the desk. Fuck me.” There was an edgy rasp to her voice, but it was as steadily commanding as ever, reminding him just who had orchestrated and started this. Too bad it played right where he wanted; too bad they wanted the same damn thing.

And he wouldn’t say no.

He turned her around— and there’d never, ever be anything satisfying as controlling Gracie’s movements by her long, dark hair— and pressed her hips against the desk with his own body, and pushed until she was flattened over it.

“Stay.” He grunted, and untangled his hand from her hair. She laughed mockingly; he heard more crinkling paper as she adjusted herself, while he retreated a half-step. Which happened to be as far as he could bare.

Just like that, she was spread before him. Gracie was all sharp curves, golden skin contrasted with white lace and flecks of pale scars, her built shoulders sloping to every delicate vertebrae of her spine and widening to the flare of her hips, culminating in those long, lean legs dangling off the edge of his desk.

Bruises shaped distinctly like fingers crowded the back of her thighs among scars and, lower closer to her knee, bandages that he knew covered a bullet graze. If he spread her legs further he knew he’d see fading hickeys and bite marks higher on the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Her skin bore marks of him between the marks of war.

Jacob ran his hands over that skin, marveling at every ripple of muscle, and then at the apex, the perfect swell of her ass framed by white lace. He touched the edges, skimmed his fingers over her ass where the fabric met it, down and along to the crease of her thighs, almost to where he needed to touch her with a consuming single-mindedness.

“Rip ‘em, do it, c’mon, c’mon.” Always so formal and now decidedly not, she goaded him on. Never begging, only another challenge. The angle of her hips and height of the desk had her leaning up on the balls of her feet, and she bounced one leg impatiently, bumping her knee in rhythm against the desk drawers.

Jacob obeyed. When he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric he felt warmth, and a distinct wetness. He had to tug gently to separate the lace from where it had stuck to her with slick, then mirrored with his other hand and tore. Like paper, the lingerie fell apart and away from Gracie, revealing a peak of her pussy to him.

He easily ignored the far distant pain of his joints to kneel down and lick a single strip along her cunt, barely pausing to thumb her open for better access. His girl was soaked. Another lick, then another, and he could feel it dripping through his beard. Fuck it. He stood, plunged two fingers into the heat of her, pressed down, dragging against her inner walls as her muscles tensed then relaxed around him. Some half-choked off cry escaped her; her bouncing stopped in favor of canting her hips towards him to chase the feeling, to get his fingers fucked deeper into her. He gave it to her; he pressed harder and deeper, in an arrhythmic and punishing drag. Gracie gasped, more papers crumpling in her hands as they tightened closed.

When he pulled his fingers out, he could see her cunt clench around nothing. The final straw to any shred of self-restraint. Taking himself in hand, Jacob dragged his cock, still damp from her saliva, along her slit, then plunged hard into her, seating himself to the hilt in one motion.

She made a pretty, precious little noise, her whole body lifting slightly then settling with an inhale. He only noticed because he was habitually hyper aware of her every move, otherwise the pure blissed out heat of being enveloped in the rippling of her cunt would have distracted him entirely. He rocked back, then into her, hard. Jacob wasn’t in the mood to toy with her. She adjusted, shifting and tilting her hips just so with a drawn out sigh.

He grit his teeth, and shoved into her forcefully and set a brutal rhythm, determined to make her fall apart beneath him.

At first he wanted to keep her by the hair. Tilt her head, keep her back arched in an uncomfortable position as recompense for her tormenting. Then he held her by the wrists. They looked lovely crossed against the small of her back. Then the desire to play with her through that thin lace overcame every other option, and he groped beneath her to take one of her breasts in hand. He kneaded at it, made her writhe under him, then plucked at her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t a great angle for his wrist, but when she moaned and arched closer to him, he wouldn’t dream of stopping.

“Good, yes.” Gracie breathed out. He felt suddenly like he was playing right into her hand, though he was the one with hands on her.

She messed with his head. Intrinsically. He held her down, fucked into her, but he’d barely done one thing this whole evening that she hadn’t commanded him to. He didn’t know who was in control. He didn’t know how much it mattered. All that did matter was the feeling of her underneath him.

He leant closer, body pressing flush to hers, sweat trapping between skin, and supported himself with an elbow on the table, other still plucking at the stiffened peak of her nipple. It wasn’t good for leverage, but it was good for feeling her, for drowning in her. He wanted every bit of them to be touching; he wanted them to tangle as if he could somehow pull her so close that they could never possibly be separated. They were made of the same thing, whatever that may be.

She hitched a knee onto the desk, tilted her hips, and gasped; Jacob instinctively snaked his arm further down to press at her clit, multitasking rough brushes against her between thrusts. “Sweet thing. Pretty, pretty Gracie, wildcat, mine.” He pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to her heated skin, and growled into it. “Do you feel good, baby girl?”

“You can—“ A stuttering gasp that belied her next words. “You can give it to me better than that. I know you can.” She trailed off into incomprehensible squeaks as he growled and picked up a punishing pace. Her voice, now higher pitched and breathy with lust and exertion, rang in his ears above the lewd sounds of his cock pumping into her, her hips bumping the desk. His thoughts were all her.

All her. All her skin beneath him, all the feeling of her engulfing his cock, all that sly look she gave him from the corner of her eyes, wanting and desperate and vicious. He needed to prove her wrong, or right, or whichever, whatever, anything that kept him in her thoughts as often as she dominated his.

“Give me everything. I want all of you, Jacob.” She continued, breathless gibberish rushing through swollen lips. “Everything, everything, try and break me.”

Risking horrible destabilization, he yanked Gracie’s hair to tip her chin up with the hand he’d been using to prop himself up, and bit into the smooth curve of her neck that revealed, and let the rock of his thrusts rub his fingers rough against her clit.

“Think I’m not? I’ll give you everything and you’ll fucking take it, ferocious thing. And you’re the only one strong enough, vicious enough to. You wanna try me? Test me? Do anything you fucking want to me, wildcat, I want all of you right back.” She shivered and panted; he could see her eyes squeezed shut. “That’s it, wildcat, come pretty for me.”

He held out long enough to feel the ripples of her muscles around him. She gasped out his name with a keening whine; her whole beautiful body tensed tight like a bow as her cunt tightened and pulsed around him unbearably viselike. A rush of satisfaction, the smug pride, the feeling of her; the tightness crested a breaking point and he clenched his jaw around needful sounds, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he released into her in waves. He shuddered, no longer able to support himself with the sudden crack wip release drain of adrenaline, and propped his elbow back on the table. His joints screamed their displeasure at him, but he couldn’t bear to untangle just yet.

Like always, Gracie caught her breath faster than he’d have liked. But she had the small mercy to not shove him off.

Jacob nosed at her neck, feeling the damp sweat and smelling the clean, natural scent of it over her usual minty shampoo and soap. He ran his hand along her flank, ribs to hip, while he struggled to catch his breath, and she eventually wiggled beneath him as if somehow finding a truly comfortable spot in her current position.

“Mm,” Gracie hummed before a peal of cackling, witchy giggles left her. “I _win_.”

**Author's Note:**

> lbr she probably stole some documents off his desk while she was at it


End file.
